


Requiem

by LampTheLastScene (Corusco)



Series: 34'Spring [1]
Category: Football RPF
Genre: Alternative universe - revolution, Bayern Munich casted as villians, F/M, I have no idea where this is going, I think it'll be plotty, I'm scared, I'm sorry Kloppo I love you, Lots of people smoke, M/M, Smoking is bad, There's no other option
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-25
Updated: 2015-06-25
Packaged: 2018-04-01 05:11:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4007113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corusco/pseuds/LampTheLastScene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The central government of Anesidora is crumbling and the idea of revolution is spreading throughout the country. Marco is a promising university student who also happens to be one of the student leaders of the university’s largest progressive group. Aside from peaceful demonstration, he and his friends have a hidden plan for the government in order to avenge their former mentor, Jürgen Klopp. Everything is going well until the appearance of another auspicious music student who desperately wants to enter their circle.<br/>Mario Götze is smart, talented, naïve but strong. He is not only interested in a better tomorrow for Anesidora, but more importantly, he has fallen head over heels in love for Marco…or has he?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introitus

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea where this story is heading but I know it will probably be long if I ever finish it.  
> Lots of thanks to Jess and Ed for dragging me down with this ship! Also, all mistakes are mine.  
> (Work and chapter titles come from Mozart's Requiem in d minor. My favourite version of this piece is by Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra with Karajan, recorded in 1994.)
> 
> This story is pure fictional and has no whatsoever connection with the real world.

**_Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine,_ **  
**_et lux perpetua luceat eis._ **  
**_Te decet hymnus, Deus, in Sion,_ **  
**_et tibi reddetur votum in Jerusalem._ **  
**_Exaudi orationem meam,_ **  
**_ad te omnis caro veniet._ **  
**_Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine,_ **  
**_et lux perpetua luceat eis._ **

*

The heavy leaden clouds followed Marco all the way from the concert hall to the bus stop. He checked his watch and sighed: the tram better not be late again because waiting in a rain storm was not the best way to end his already terribly long day.

With the curfew time approaching, there were only another four or five people waiting on the platform with him: most of them were students, and some worked near the university. Together they waited in silence, staring at the direction where the tram would come as if their intense glares could summon its appearance right on the spot.

“I really hope it will arrive on time,” one of the young students murmured.

“It could be just the roadblocks,” the blond boy beside her shrugged. “Don’t you worry darling, we won’t get in trouble as long as we have these little thingy.”

He waved his wallet and the taller boy beside him rolled his eyes, “Keep waving and you’ll lose the grip of your ‘thingy’,” he pointed at the blue piece of paper at the back of the wallet. “If it flies away AGAIN, there’s no way I’ll accompany you to the Transportation Agency.”

“…But I forgot the bring it with me today.”

The girl’s voice was soft and quiet, but nevertheless attracted everyone’s attraction. Marco could’t help but threw her a sympathetic glance and clutched his own pass in his wallet almost by reflex. This poor girl would have to pull an all-nighter at the university library because there was no way that the driver would let her ride the night tram without a pass. Under the current political situation, even the most naïve looking girl could be the most-wanted on the official blacklist.

The comforting voice from the boys gradually melted into the humid night air. Rainstorms weren’t usual in late May in the capital city: Donum was known for its temperate weather during late spring and summer. Apparently tonight was an exception. Then the piece that he practiced with the conservatory orchestra tonight replaced the students’ conversation in his head—Dvořák’s Concerto for Piano and Orchestra in G minor—and for once, Marco had a positive feeling toward this night class. Thanks to this unnecessary compulsory class, he obtained the curfew pass without any trouble. (Compare to his poor roommate André, who had spent a large fortune to get the same pass illegally.)

The curfew pass is a piece of thin, badly-printed blue paper with hand-written personal information on it: name, birth date, sex, occupation, appearance, address,usage restrictions, and of course an ugly mug shot. With the It was only valid for two months, so that the pass holder had to renew it every other month. Thanks to the bombing incident at the police station last month, it wouldn’t be long before the pass upgraded to a full A4 size paper.

(It was actually funny now to think about it: every autocracies in the long run of history had once adopted a strict curfew system to monitor and regulate society, and all of them failed at the end. And you thought they could at least learn something from the past and come up with a better solution, but no, they never learned.)

The last tram of the day was late for ten minutes. The students earlier had left for the uni library already, and the rest of the passengers lined up in silence, waiting for the old driver to check their curfew pass with a magnifying glass.

Marco was the last in line and the only seat he got was a small spot behind the driver. The heat was right above his head and in less than two minutes, his hair was already a mess. The bell tingled as the tram slowly moved through the quiet city, leaving the populated Zone 1. The low humming sound of passengers filled the first compartment; they talked about another same day (if not worse) at work or school, another night with the same girlfriend or wife, and another moment in their ordinary lives. Marco stared at the shadow formed on the floor and uttered a snoring laugh at the random cross shape. The only political correctness he possessed was his attitude on religion. Marco Reus was a firm atheist, even if his parents, grandparents and great-grand parents were devoted Baptists. The owner of the corner bookstore Mats Hummels had once claimed that a turbulent era will only made the religious more religious, and the atheists more atheist. Although Marco loved to argue with Mats, he had to agree on this one.

*

Tram No.11 was the only line that travelled through out Zone 1, 2 and 3. The small apartment Marco and André rent was near the last stop of Zone 2, before entering Zone 3…but tonight Marco had other plans.

The second stop after crossing the zone borders was named “Silent Valley”, and whoever named this stop really should consider retaking an English course because, please, there must be a better alternative for naming the city’s graveyard station.

(This also explained why everyone was secretly eyeing Marco when he got off at this stop at 10:30 PM, even the driver’s voice shook a bit when he bid Marco good night.)

Marco waited until the tingling bell of the tram disappeared completely into the night, and then  turned and walked into the forest behind him. It only took him three minutes and travel across the darkness and arrived at the back gate of the graveyard. Old John’s torchlight exposed the location of the graveyard keeper. Marco quickly found a safe route to his destination—the large oak tree east to the gate. He really wasn’t in the mood of chatting with a 60 years old widower on a Friday night.

The storm clouds had finally caught up Marco’s steps. The first couple droplets were quickly followed by an army of raindrops, who then fell through the heavy branches and finally hit his umbrella hard. He leaned against the damp trunk and breathed in the cool air mixed with mud, rain and strong floral smell. The wind blew through his thin coat; he should’ve bring the scarf with him so that it wouldn’t be a pain in the ass later when he had to pick the flowers out of his coat collar.

When they buried Klopp’s ashes under the tree, none of them knew oak tree flowers. It wasn’t the smell of the oak flower that made Marco sneeze though—it was the bouquets of flowers under the trunk. It must be Kevin who bought the white roses and lilies; among his friends, only Großkreutz the Forgetful would fail to recall that Marco was allergic to both kinds of flowers (and could afford such a large expensive bouquet). There was no doubt that Mats wrapped those lovely ribboned yellow tulips near Kevin’s biological weapon: he had a whole backyard of them. And of course, the carnations belongs to André, who just declared broke after having a new girlfriend. There were other bouquets lying around, and although Marco couldn’t name the exact of each of them, he had a rough idea who had been here. You know, there weren’t many people nowadays would visit the cemetery on a Friday night and pay tribute to a political prisoner.

“Um, good evening Mr. Klopp,” he cleared his throat awkwardly. “This is Marco. Sorry ’am late, got a night class. There’s only two weeks left till the end of this term though, and If nothing happens, I’ll graduate this winter. I got recommended to an graduate program abroad, but honestly, who cares about piano performance nowadays? But of course, I guess Mats, Kevin and André must have already told you about our lives… Hmm, talking about André, he might hide his dark secret of failing his constitution law class last term. Please give him a long talk his dream: I’ll go deaf if he talks about his foreign girlfriend one more time.” He briefly imagined André’s face and chuckled. “So yes, everyone was pretty good. André got himself a girlfriend, Mats refurnished his bookstore, Kevin didn’t fail any class, and most importantly, Roman got a promotion in the Centre. We can finally carry out our plan.”

He was silent for for a moment, biting his lips and finally murmured, “You’ll probably scold us and declare violence is never the answer. But again, you know how stubborn we all are. I have to apologize in advance.”

Marco threw his umbrella onto the grass and bowed.

He blamed his itchy nose and watering eyes on Kevin’s ridiculous flowers.

*

Marco was welcomed by a huge noise the moment he placed his key on the cabinet. He sighed; it was definitely not what he wanted to deal with after an exhausting one-hour walk in the rain.

“André?” He moved cautiously into the living room and grabbed a butter knife on the way. “Is that you? André?”

“Oh my goodness Marco, I swear to God one day you’ll give me a heart attack.” The shadow in the dark groaned and turned on the light. André Schürrle hobbled into the room with his ridiculous sleep hair, “How many times I’ve told you to move away the boxes in the corridor?”

“Because you’ve taken up all the space in the storage, lawyer boy.”

“And you always come back before 12. I thought your forgot your pass today.”

“Who else will visit you at midnight? Your girlfriend?” Marco raised his eyebrows as André placed his handgun back into the cupboard. “Really?A gun? What if it was the Supervisor? Are you going to shoot him?”

“Yes, of course, because air inside the cold high walls is definitely fresher,” André rolled his eyes and flopped down beside the dining table. “In case you’re wondering, no, I thought it was a burglar. There was a couple of breaking and entering in the community last week.”

“Well, we should probably decorated the said imaginary burglar if he actually manages to discover anything valuable in this apartment.”

Schürrle choked and almost knocked the water bottle off the table. Marco shrugged and hanged his coat on the hallstand, then checked the mails on the cabinet: several school newsletters, gas and water bills of last season, a notice from the landlord reminding them to water the garden and some coupons distributed by the nearby stores.

“No really, where did you go?” André coughed.

“Where you guys went earlier today.” He threw the empty envelops and notes in the bin, grabbed a box of tissue and also poured himself a glass of water, “And please remind me to add fifty teaspoons of cinnamon into Kevin’s coffee next time we meet.”

“Oh so you did go. I thought you were busy today.” Schürrle took a bite of a bar of chocolate (out of nowhere), “I went with Mats in the morning. What did Kevin do? Oh wait, don’t tell me he bought lilies again—oh my, he did! What else did he buy? Rose? REALLY?” He looked at Marco’s dead eyes and broke into a hysterical laugh.

“I sincerely hope you’ll choke on your snack too,” the blond deadpanned.

André could finally collect himself after a whole minute, though still hiccupping when he reopened his mouth, “You should probably buy yourself two dozens of tissue tomorrow, because I really don’t want to knock on our neighbour’s door half naked again asking for toilet paper.”

“Please stop putting that image in my head again, it was traumatizing.” Marco scratched his arms; it had already started getting itchy. “Did you say you went with Mats? Are there any news in the town?”

“Nothing in detail: routes of the military parade, agendas of several government heads. We’ll talk more tomorrow,I’m tired,” André yawned. “You should probably go to sleep too, Don’t you have a morning class tomorrow?”

The bird in the clock gaily hopped out and cuckooed at the exact same time. Marco downed the glass of water and nodded, “Alright, see you at Mats’ tomorrow.”

“Hey, remember to bring a pack of beer back when you pick up the tissues tomorrow!” André’s voice raised above the closing door.

Marco reopened his bedroom door an inch, showed a middle finger, then slammed the door shut again.

“Yeah man, love you too.” André sang in a mocking fondness, turned off the light and concluded the last peaceful night they would ever have in a long, long time.

……TBC

 ** _Grant them eternal rest, Lord,_**  
**_and let perpetual light shine on them._**  
**_You are praised, God, in Zion,_**  
**_and homage will be paid to You in Jerusalem._**  
**_Hear my prayer,_**  
**_to You all flesh will come._**  
**_Grant them eternal rest, Lord,_**  
**_and let perpetual light shine on them_**.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Translation taken from http://www.stmatthews.com/choir/mozartsrequiem.htm  
> *Marco's pass: http://foliefroide.tumblr.com/post/120367914682/requiemch1note
> 
> So...what do you guys think? I haven't written anything for a long time (apart for endless essays that is .____.) . All feedbacks are so very much appreciated!  
> (Also, I have bad feeling that Mario won't appear until the third chapter...)


	2. Kyrie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ann-Kathrin is cool, Erik should study drama instead, and Mario appears earlier than the author originally planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy belated birthday to my dear dear Marco! Hope he had a good one despite last night's match...*cries a river*.  
> Also, this song is going to appear quite often in the rest of the story: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5PhTt6JHNN8. (Lyrics: http://www.recmusic.org/lieder/get_text.html?TextId=28441)

**_ Kyrie, eleison. _ **

**_ Christe, eleison. _ **

**_ Kyrie, eleison. _ **

 

Musical accompaniment was a practicum class with four groups of piano students and singers. The class was given in several connected music rooms, and one professor took turn to instruct. It was also one of Marco’s least favourite classes—in fact, “one of” could be totally omitted. Even Orchestration was somehow better, and Marco hated woodwinds.

“A Saturday course is bad enough and then there comes all the singers, who are just born to be pretentious assholes,” Erik Durm scorned and took another huge bite of his sandwich. He was three years younger than Marco but had already skipped a year. Sometimes Marco wondered how come everyone around him was much more genius than him (or it was him who was not smart enough).

Marco nodded, “Yup, but we get paid to get these credits so try not to complain outside the practice room.”

“I would suggest you listen to Mr. Reus’ advice, Mr. Durm,” Professor Löw abruptly appeared behind them, and judging form Erik’s painful expression, he must have bit his tongue hard.

“Good morning, Professor Löw,” Marco pat on Erik’s shoulder and smiled to their professor apologetically. “C’mon Erik, let’s meet your unfortunate partner. The rest of us can vote on which one between you two is more miserable at the end of the class.”  

 

Shinji and Pierre was already warming up with their singers and they shared a brief smile when Marco passed by. He walked to his practice room and sighed to see his singer leaning against the Essex piano and checking her red sharp-tipped nails idly. He had been working with AKB the Diva for the entire semester now.

“Hi blondi!” Her posh lips was way too distracting. Could anyone sing when wearing this much lipstick? 

“Miss Brömmel,” he placed a stack of staff paper on the piano.  

“Really?” Ann-Kathrin frowned. “Darling, only professor Löw doesn’t call me AK and he’s a product from last century.”

“I’m terribly sorry I’m still alive, Miss. Brömmel” Professor Löw knocked on the door, dryly interrupted. “Warm up. We’ll work from page 6 today.”

They broke into laughter as soon as the door was shut, and couldn’t stop until another stern knock on the door. Alright, Ann-Kathrin wasn’t that bad. To be honest she was one of Marco’s favourite singers to collaborate with, extremely talented and professional—she had skipped two years in a row and was now in the final year of her Master degree. All major opera companies were chasing after her and she had already established a firm follower base. Also, she might look like the social-butterfly-haughty-all-mighty queen at first, but she was actually funny if you got to spend more time with her.

 

They only had time to sing up to A major before moving on to her repertoire list. “O lieb, so lang du lieben kannst” was one of her fortes, and Marco did enjoy the tune of Liebestraum No.3. They spent the next hour on refining this piece and two other sonettos and didn’t realize the class was over before Erik bursted into the room without knocking.

“Hey Reethoven, my singer will eat you alive if you keep her any longer.”

“Wha—”

“That’s not what I mean, Mr. Durm! Please AK, finish rehearsing—”

Marco looked up and saw a boy standing behind Erik who looked fresh out of high school. Given that Marco had never seen this brunet’s face before, he was probably indeed a first-year and must be Erik’s new singer then. 

“—Oh Mario meine Liebe!” Ann-Kathrin let out a soprano type of vibrato greeting. Erik rolled his eyes so hard that Marco was worried about his eye muscles; he was also quite worried about the said Mario, who was currently held tightly by the high-heeled soprano and looked like he couldn’t properly breathe.

“So sweet,” Erik commented dryly. 

“—and I’ll just wait outside,” Mario finally broke away from her and hurriedly left the room with a suspicious blush on his face.

Marco raised his brows at Ann-Kathrin, “Wow, I don’t know you are into this type. Boyfriend?”

“You mean Mario? Hmmm, maybe, I don’t know,” she grinned and started packing her bag. “Isn’t he cute though?”

“I absolutely have no interest in your love whatsoever, diva mine,” Erik interrupted.

“How rude,” she pouted. “And your dear friend was asking me to sing at your grand protest thingy this afternoon. Not the right attitude, eh?”

“You asked her?” Erik widened his eyes comically at Marco, who smiled rather innocently. “If I don’t know you well enough I’ll probably think you two are dating.”

“Ew, never.” Both Marco and Ann-Kathrin giggled at the same time and Erik just had to shook his head—there he thought he was the youngest.

 

*

Anesidora was a landlocked country located between Germany and Czech Republic, nicknamed “Pandora” because of the name’s Greek origin. A civil war broke out five years ago and lasted for three years. The won side, now Social Republic Party, had taken charge of the country completely and established the current capital Donum. Like all autocracies, all promising future was merely a flash in the pan. With stricter and stricter policies and broader and broader censorship, its citizens, especially younger students, had started to take matter into their own hands and tried to change the current situation. Anesidorian University Student Progressive Union, or AUSPU, was one of the leading youth progressive groups with members coming from all universities and colleges over the country. 

 

The protest Ann-Kathrin mentioned was at 2 PM at the University Square. The unlawful arrest of Neven Subotić, a young priest at the University Church had angered students and the local community. The demonstration today aimed to pressure the police to release him as soon as possible. 

Erik gasped when he got out of the underground station: it wasn’t even 1:30 and the plaza was already filled with people.

“I’m not sure whether they came to see you, or they’re actually interested in the demonstration.”

“It works either way for me,” Ann-Kathrin shrugged and adjusted her sunglasses.

“Headache comes either way too,” Erik held his head dramatically.

“Alright people, you can both switch to theatre major if you want, but only after this afternoon. I’ll check with Marcel and Kevin about the stage one last time, and you can start whenever you’re ready,” Marco patted him on the shoulder and ran to his friends.

The singer’s eyes followed the blonde’s receding figure as if she was deep in thought, “Hmm, I just realized he has never hosted any event by himself. Wonder why.”

“Maybe he just doesn’t like to talk in front of a large crowd,” Erik downed half bottle of water and smiled when Kevin gave him a thumb up. Time to go. 

“Luckily I do.”

 

Marco hid behind the left wing of the stage and nodded to himself. It was definitely a right decision to ask Ann-Kathrin to come. It didn’t matter why the crowd chose to come in the first place; it was more about spreading the news and calling attention to the current political situation. Also, contrary to common belief, he wasn’t that introvert that he couldn't host big events—he simply couldn’t afford the attention from the authorities before another plan started. There were other students who were better at this position anyways—Erik was good-looking, young, passionate and voluntary; together he and Mitchell were the best candidates for the position of spokesperson. 

 

“Dear citizens and friends, thank you all for coming today. My name is Erik Durm, student member of AUSPU Central Conservatory Chapter. Today, we are here together to peacefully protest the event of the unlawful arrest of Neven Subotić.” 

“Mr. Subotić has crossed the blockade on the night of Police Street Fire around 2AM on 8th Ave. The blockade was temporary without any early notice, and no officials were around to warn passerby about the current situation. It was a daily route between his residence and the church.”

“He was arrested six blocks away from the crime scene without proper questioning, warning or detaining. Keep in mind that he held a valid night pass, therefore had every right to walk on the street. However, the pass was taken away in custody and destroyed, and then the official stated that he didn’t possess any.” 

"Valid alibi have been submitted to show he was not affiliated with any protest groups, illegal or legal. The police has tacitly acknowledged his innocence, admitting that there isn’t enough evidence to support his connection with the fire, however still refuses to release him. Today, we AUSPU are asking for his unconditional release as soon as possible with an issued apology.”

“The protest walk begins at 2PM from the plaza, and together we’ll walk to the police station via Central Boulevard. The whole demonstration will last about two hours.Please sign our petition before you leave. Thank you very much for your support.” 

Erik took a deep breath whilst the crowd applauded, “Before the walk begins, please welcome Ann-Kathrin Brömmel to lead the Progressive March. Anesidora, forever strong and free!”

 

*

The demonstration was a success; more than a thousand people showed up at the square and they had gathered more than twenty pages of signature. The signatures themselves weren't going to do much, but raising awareness of the current situation among the rather comparably relaxed and wealthy university students was the most important after all. 

(Also, nowadays any demonstration that didn't end in detainment or imprisonment could definitely be considered as a success.) 

 

Ann-Kathrin bid them farewell after an hour—she has already stayed much longer than Marco expected, which was indeed a pleasant surprise. She said she had a concert in the evening with the city opera or else she would definitely stay. 

He gave her a tight hug, “Thank you for coming today. I’ll bring you a coffee next week.”

“Two cream one sugar,” she gave a peck on his cheeks. “ Kyrie eleison. May God bless you all.”

“You know I’m not religious.” 

“Don’t be an ungrateful little brat, Marco, a prayer won’t hurt anyone,” Ann-Kathrin put her sunglasses back on and helped to straighten his coat collar. “And take good care of my boy, ok? See you next week.”

Marco was going to ask which of her boys she was talking about, but abruptly noticed a familiar face in the crowd—the first-year vocal student he met earlier today. What was the brunet’s name? M, Ma, oh yes, Mario—it wasn’t a common first name in Anesidora. 

Why was he here? Was he also interested in the progressive movement? It was always marvellous to have new members, and not to mention this Mario was quite attractive. As the older members were graduating, passionate young students were needed to keep the organization moving. 

Or, maybe he wasn’t interested at all and only came because of Ann-Kathrin. This might be a more logical explanation…but he didn’t leave with her, and that only produced more questions. 

Marco shook his head; he was wasting his time. He probably wouldn’t see this Mario outside Saturday morning’s class anyways. Erik and Marcel were calling him for some legal forms, and when his eyes were just about to move away from the crowd, they met with Mario’s.

The brunet looked like he was startled at first, but quickly smiled and shyly waved at him. His chubby cheeks wore a shade of pink and Marco all of a sudden instinctively swallowed hard.

“Marco, what are you looking at?” Marcel’s voice floated across the crowd. “Come here and help us!”

“’m coming,” he forced himself to look away and hurried to their side. He answered a couple of questions for some students from Donum Women’s University regarding unethical bylaws involved in this event. 

When he checked the crowd again two minutes later, the brunet was nowhere to be found.

……TBC

_**Lord, have mercy on us.** _

_**Christ, have mercy on us.** _

_**Lord, have mercy on us.** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Marco's pass and more: http://foliefroide.tumblr.com/post/120367914682/requiemch1note  
> *Anesidora means “she who sends up gifts”, another name for Pandora. The capital’s name “Donum” simply means gift in Latin.  
> * Marco’s school’s practice room is equipped with Essex piano, a brand under Steinway&Sons, and is usually used for vocal accompaniment.   
> * As I've mentioned earlier, AK's best repertoire “O lieb, so lang du lieben kannst” (O love, love as long as you can) is a lied (art song) by Lizst. He eventually adapted the melody into his Liebesträume No. 3, one of his most famous piece. The lyrics are from a poem written by Ferdinand Freiligrat: http://www.recmusic.org/lieder/get_text.html?TextId=28441. Here’s a version by Dame Margaret Price: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5PhTt6JHNN8  
> *More useless information: http://foliefroide.tumblr.com/post/120367914682/requiemch2note


	3. Sequentia - Dies Irae

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik raised his hand, “What exactly do we do with them?”  
> Roman glared at him enigmatically and Nuri and Kevin sighed from behind.
> 
> “We bury them.” 
> 
>  
> 
> A chapter in which Roman the Undercover is ultra cool (as usual) and Mats is ultra charming (as usual).  
> Also way too much information and way too long dialogues.

_**Dies irae, dies illa** _  
_**Solvet saeclum in favilla,** _  
_**teste David cum Sibylla.** _  
_**Quantus tremor est futurus,** _  
_**quando judex est venturus,** _  
_**cuncta stricte discussurus!** _

Mats had his pack of cigarettes in his left hand while his right hand fishing for a lighter in his jacket pocket. He shook the box several times and mouthed the first stick that popped out. His right thumb pad had a layer of callus due to years of sliding lighter wheels. The fire gracefully slide past the end of the cigarette for less than a second. He inhaled and exhaled. Smoke escaped through the corner of his mouth; it looked strangely funny and charming at the same time.

Here's the thing: Mats Hummels was a huge smoker, period. Marco had accused him of being the bad influence in the group, because somehow everyone around Mats had picked this horrible habit up. Mats just shrugged every time when he heard this claim, put on his typical smug smile while puffing a cloud of poisonous to his face. 

"Man up, Woody, " he pat on the blond's shoulder so heavy that it would hurt for a good minute. “One or two ain’t hurt nobody.”

“Your accent sucks and you need to go back to elementary school to learn proper counting, Mats,” Marco coughed and backed several steps in disgust. “Or the concept of two has changed and the world didn’t inform me.”

“Must be the latter,” Mats nodded, and beside him Kevin bursted into laughter.

Marco rolled his eyes and finally found a seat in Mat’s narrow flat. The kitchen stool was more comfortable than he thought. He got himself a beer from the counter, grabbed the boxed tissue beside him and stole a bunch of chips from Kevin’s plate.

“Hey, don’t you steal my mac n’ cheese!” Kevin protested.

“Terrible taste in flavour choosing. Get barbecue next time, that’s the real good stuff.” Marco munched on the chips rather loudly. “Also take that as a comeback for your Lily n’ Rose fest.”

“Oh man, ’m so sorry,” Kevin pulled a face. “Totally forgot about your allergy. But I see you still breathing so it isn’t that bad eh?”

“I’m not sure if using up two boxes of tissues in less than 12 hours a day can count as ‘not that bad’,” Marco kicked him in the calf and smile in satisfactory to see his face screwed up in agony. “I can’t feel my nose now and I’m pretty sure it’s smaller than it was yesterday.”

“Who else is coming today?” Erik stole a cigarette from Mats’ pocket when the raven-haired was absently checking the account book. Mats owned a corner bookstore near the university village, selling cheap second-handed textbooks and stationaries to students. He also had a large collection of classical texts, novels and poetry on the second floor, souvenirs from his unfinished honour degree of classical literature. He had been living on the third floor of the same building after he moved out from his old shared flat with his ex. The attic consisted of a kitchenette, a living room/den, a bathroom and a small bedroom featuring a double bed and some more books. Few visitors came apart from his small circle of comrades.

“Um, everyone? Pretty sure—” Nuri looked up from the book he was reading; he had been quiet for awhile that Marco thought he had fallen asleep long ago. “—Shush.”

There were heavy steps coming from downstairs. Everyone stopped talking and stared at the entrance. The steps stopped right outside the door with two polite knocks.

“It’s me,” the calm voice announced. 

Mats walked to the door, carefully unlocked it and gave the visitor a tight hug.

“Good evening, Roman.”

“Sorry I’m late,” the brunet smiled apologetically. “Got some extra work at the bureau.”

“Any new dictating scheme going on there?” Pierre who was then napping on the couch sat up and stretched.

“Thanks God no,” Roman sighed and picked the kitchen stool next to Marco. “Everyone is still working on the fire case. Although if they couldn’t find any clue by next Saturday, they’ll probably just find a random scapegoat.”

“Suckers,” Nuri commented.

“Probably not AUPSU though, you guys are too tough to conquer, at least for now,” Roman opened a bottle of beer. “Cheers, Marco, great demonstration this afternoon. I overheard that they will release Mr. Subotić next Monday—and of course, the ever so great Erik Durm, cheers to you too.”

Erik was just going to protest, his pout half way turned into a grin, “Told you I’m useful.”

“Of course little boy,” Kevin ruffed his hair and earned a kick in the same calf Marco just attacked. “Ouch! Dude, are you a football player or a piano player?”

“Alright people, let’s get started so everyone can leave before 10 since I don’t have enough space to hold a sleepover party here,” Mats cleared his throat and attracted everyone’s attention. He was sitting on his desk and waving a small sheet of scrap paper. “First thing first, huge thanks to Roman and Seb, we’ve finally got the list.”

“Where’s Kehli?” Erik whispered.

“He said he won’t attend any meeting this year for the sake of safety,” Nuri answered. “He’s still on the government’s blacklist.”

“God bless him.” Mats continued. “Anyway, The list. We have a total of ten people. Pepe Reina and Javi Martínez are the heads of the firing squad. Two interrogators, name’s Frank Ribéry and Arjen Robben; the ex Division Chief Manuel Neuer, who was responsible for the case. He had left right after this case though, but we’ll find him.”

  
“I don’t know about the executioners,” Marco interrupted. “They had to follow the orders, didn’t they?”

  
“Marco,” Pierre warned.

  
“This list is definitely open to discussion,” Mats raised his voice. “But let me finish first. We know prison guards Jan Kirchhoff and Holger Badstuber at the very start who had ‘taken good care’ of Mr. Klopp,” he made an air quotation mark sarcastically. “Then Jérôme Boateng, Chief constable of Donum No.7 Prison. And of course Philip Lahm, former head of SSB’s Information sector. I have to say he’s a smart guy, got himself a secret promotion earlier this year and hid so very well.”  
“So where exactly was he promoted?” Kevin inquired.

  
“Cabinet. He now worked for the Home Secretary,” Roman grinned and blew a series of perfect smoke rings. “I met him at a secret banquet last week, indeed a ‘pleasant’ surprise. He somehow managed to keep everybody’s mouths shut about his hideaway, and frankly I don’t want to know how.”

  
“But still, looks like Lady Fortune was on our side.” Marco sipped his beer. “So that’s nine people. Who else?” 

  
“Josep Guadiola.” 

The president’s name rendered everyone speechless: Erik dropped his jaw forming an “O” shape, Marco choked on his beer, Pierre was almost burnt by the lighter, and others stared at each other blankly. 

Mats lit another cigarette and raised his brows, “What?”

Nuri coughed, “Um, I’m sorry, but the degree of difficulty has risen significantly here.”

“Wow, good job Nuri, very observant.” Kevin clapped but was immediately silenced by Roman’s glare.

“Reason for opposition?” 

“Understandable but seems unrealistic.” Marco blew his nose rather loudly trying to surpass the awkwardness. “I suggest to put him on hold. We can design a plan tailored for him after we finished dealing with the first nine people.”

“Second to that,” Pierre agreed. “It would cost way too much time just to target him alone.”

“Take the leap blindly might result in unwanted consequences,” Roman nodded. “But it doesn’t mean we should give up. Marco’s right, we can wait till we finish dealing with five of them.”

Mats raised his hands in defeat, “Ok, reasonable. Any other question about this list?”

Erik raised his hand, “What exactly do we do with them?”

Roman glared at him enigmatically and Nuri and Kevin sighed from behind.

 

“We bury them.” 

 

 

The room entered in another round of silence. Marco blew his nose again and Kevin went to the counter to grab more chips. Nuri handed Roman his lighter and Pierre took another stretch. Erik’s eyes locked on Mats, who smiled at him and didn’t look like the cold-hearted avenger who just answered his silly question at all.

“Well that escalated quickly,” Erik murmured.

“Any other productive question?” Mats repeated. “If not, we can finally move on to details. The easiest targets in the list are obviously the executioners and the prison guards. But I would like to listen to your opinion on the executioners, because Marco’s question is actually quite critical.”

“Lots of people on the list are ‘simply’ following the orders too,” Nuri crossed his arms rather defensively. “And I think that’s s exactly where the problem is right now in this country.”

“I don’t know, man,” Pierre’s head rested on one of his hands. “They probably didn’t know who they killed at all.”

Kevin had a thoughtful look on his face, “Me from a year ago would probably vote on yes, because after all it was them who actually pulled the trigger. But now I’m not too sure…”

“What do you think, Roman?” Mats asked.

“I have to again agree with Marco on this one,” the brunet sighed. “I know it was difficult to make this decision because even right now I don’t feel comfortable saying this. It is a fact that they killed Mr. Klopp, but there was little choice left for them, unlike other people on the list. I feel like—”

He stopped abruptly, wary eyes fell on the door.

“What is it?” Mats stood up in vigilance. 

“—there’s someone outside.”

Everyone turned to the entrance breathlessly; a tentative knock almost startled Kevin off the chair. 

“What—” 

Erik’s question was muffed by Marco’s hand. The young man widened his eyes when the civil servant drew a small pistol out of nowhere (“It’s in his shirt pocket,” Marco supplied) and approached the door. 

“Let’s go,” Nuri whispered and pointed at the bedroom. There was a staircase behind the closet that led directly to the backdoor of the bookstore. “Mats and Roman will take care of it.”

“Since when the government employees are allowed to bring weapon?” Erik looked rather panic-stricken.

“Last month. You need to pay closer attention to the news, little boy,” Kevin held the hidden door wide for them. “Come on, and pray it’s only an inspector or else we’re in huge trouble.”

 

Outside Roman and Mats exchanged an almost overly calm glance; Mats nodded and remained seated, his left hand holding the gun barrel tightly under the desk.

“Who is it?” Roman asked.

The answer was muffed and incoherent, but the knock became more persistent. It didn’t sound like an inspector though, or any sort of patrol personnel. Roman raised his brows but nonetheless approached the door with caution.

“Who is it?” He repeated the question. “This is Roman Weidenfeller from State Security Bureau. Unless you hold an special inspector pass or a search warrant, I’m not obligated to open the door.”

“Water…” the voice outside finally produced a distinguishable word. 

“…Huh?!”

“I need…water…”

A heavy thud followed right after. Roman turned and looked at Mats, who shook his head.

 

Marco’s steps stopped when he was just about to closed the trapdoor. He sure had heard the voice somewhere before. 

“What are you waiting for?” Pierre waved from several staircases below.

“I think I know who that is. You guys can go first.”

“Hey!!”

Without the key the door could only open from outside. There was nothing Pierre could do other than keep going because returning wasn’t an option. He sighed and prayed Mr. Unlucky wouldn’t get into any trouble, because, well, Mr. Unlucky was an extremely apt and accurate title for his friend.

 

Marco hurried to the living room and was just in time to see Roman opened the door a crack tentatively. For whatever reason, he immediately recognized the unconscious body at the doorstep, though they had only known each other for less than 12 hours.

 

“Mario?!”

“You know him?”

 

His mutter and Roman’s question voiced in unison, and Mats shook his head. This was going to be a long night.

 

.......TBC

 

 _**Day of wrath, day of anger** _  
_**shall consume the world in ashes,** _  
_**as foretold by David and the Sibyl.** _  
_**Great trembling there will be** _  
_**when the Judge descends from heaven** _  
_**to examine all things closely.** _

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Going into actual plot next chapter! I've casted most people from Bayern Munich as villains in this story because of a lack of better option. Sorry if it offends anyone:(  
> 


	4. Sequentia-Tuba mirum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> André as the responsible roommate came to pick Marco up, and Mats' sassy as ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I promised a Friday update, but I was out on a business trip and it was much more draining than I thought :(
> 
> Anyways, here's the update! It's more of a transition chapter from boring setting to (hopefully) real bloody stuff.

_** Tuba mirum spargens sonum,  per sepulchra regionum,  coget omnes ante thronum. ** _

_**  
Mors stupebit et natura,  cum resurget creatura,  judicanti responsura. ** _

_**  
Liber scriptus proferetur,  in quo totum continetur,  unde mundus judicetur. ** _

_**  
Judex ergo cum sedebit,  quidquid latet apparebit,  nil inultum remanebit. ** _

_**  
Quid sum miser tunc dicturus? Q uem patronum rogaturus,  cum vix justus  sit'securus? ** _

__**   
  
**

Marco woke up to a trouble and sunshine double induced migraine at seven in the morning. He groaned and hid his head inside a mountain of cushions on Mats’ sofa, and wondered how much money would it cost to buy a proper curtain, because these blinds were simply not doing their job. 

He hadn’t waken up this early for a long time, and for a moment he just lied there and trying to recall why exactly was he sleeping on Mats’ soft expensive sofa instead of his own hard camp bed (no, he wasn’t really complaining). He sat up after the harsh tickling sound of the clock had become softer to his ears. Shifting noises from downstairs and the delightful smell from the kitchen table showed that the owner of the flat had already waken up and started to prepare for another day of business (what a good citizen, Marco smirked). He wandered to the stove and poured himself a coffee, leaning on the kitchen island and patiently waiting for caffeine to kick in.

He was closely studying the potted plant on the balcony and mused on Mats’ new hobby when the door opened. He didn’t have enough time to react and a pair of icy cold hands covered his eyes from behind.

“Holy sh—André!”  Marco broke away from his grinning friend and huffed. “Please, it’s not funny.”

“I don’t know man, it’s also not funny when you didn’t return for THE night and none of you answered my call,” his roommate threw a packed breakfast muffin at him.

“It was a long story,” Marco sighed. 

“Well I’m here to listen since Mats was too busy ‘arranging pens in their correct order’. Now you have the honour to do the job.” André dropped into the rocking armchair. “1, 2, 3, go.”

Marco finished the muffin in four and a half bites and washed down with the remaining coffee. It was way too early for him to organize any coherent speech, especially on a Sunday morning. Nevertheless he walked back to the living room and collapsed on the sofa.

“So, you know AK.”

“I don’t have amnesia, so yes.”

“You know about her new boyfriend.”

“No, not that I care, but ok.”

“He passed out in front of Mats’ flat last night, in the middle of our meeting.”

“……?!”

André looked so puzzled that Marco almost felt bad for him. 

“Wait, so AK knows what we are actually up to? No, that’s impossible, but who is her new boyfriend? What does he do? Were you guys caught? What? Oh gosh, I missed one meeting and—”

“AK doesn’t know anything, and I doubt her boyfriend does—not in his unconscious state. He lives in the building across the street.”

“I’m still very confused. I think I need coffee too, and maybe a morning smoke,” André shook his head and helped himself collecting all the necessary equipment in order the comprehend the story. 

Marco frowned but nonetheless pushed the ashtray to him, “First, the meeting was well. We went through the list and discussed some names. Then there was Mario—”

“Mario.”

“AK’s boyfriend.”

“Wow, already first-name based?” André joked. “You know he’s taken and there’s noway you can defeat AK.”

“I don’t know his last name, ok? Nor am I interested,” Marco rolled his eyes. “So, this Mario collapsed in front of the flat. At first we thought he was a special inspector with his ridiculous knockings. Mats and Roman stayed and others left using the passage behind the closet.”

“Wow, did you feel like you are in some sort of spy movie?” André’s eyes lightened up.

“You should see Mats and Roman’s face when they loaded their gun. I thought my heart skipped a few beats for one or two second.”

“In a good way?”

“In a terrifying way,” Marco motioned to hand him the tissue box. “Anyways, it turned out that he was simply pissed drunk and thought this was his flat. I called AK while they ensured he was actually out cold instead of faking to be unconscious, you know, just in case it turns out he’s some nasty government undercover. ”

André made a face, “Wow, calling AK after 11pm? You really were desperate.”

“What else can I do? He didn’t have a night pass or any ID on him. I didn’t know where he lives and it was impossible to carry him back to our place, and you know leaving him at Mats’ isn’t an option. Thanks whoever up there she had just finished the performance and was heading home. Then it turned out that he lives right across Mats’ place, ” he pointed out of the window. “You see that red block?”

“He’s a first-year student?” André raised his near-invisible brows. “AK has really gone over the hills.” 

“Well, he is cute,” Marco had no idea why he was trying to defend a near-stranger. “And talented. Do you know he’s also a singer? He’s now working with Erik…”

His voice trailed off when André raised his brows even higher. He coughed and grab another tissue; maybe he should keep his mouth shut. 

Mats came in just around the right time, arms full of books. They hurried to help him before his dislocated his arms, placing the novels on the bedroom floor.

“By the way, you should really get a real curtain for your window,” Marco gestured . “It’s not safe enough. Also it’s way too bright in the morning.”

“I want to say this very time I visit. The light is indeed a bit harsh,” his roommate squinted at the living room window and nodded.

“You vampire duo should learn to appreciate natural light.” Mats’ voice distanced from the bedroom as he was re-shelving the books. “Especially you Marco, sunshine is good for your bones, you know, lots of Vitamine D, so you won’t break yourself once a month—shit, hand me the gauze.”

“You break something?” André was suddenly fully alarmed as soon as he heard the crash sound, moving further from the bedroom door.

“Not sure what I broke but my thumb is definitely bleeding. Marco?”

The blonde sighed and walked to where the emergency kit was placed. Mats wasn’t known for his carefulness. “Best instant karma.” 

“Is it wrapped? Please make sure there’s no visible blood stain on the outmost layer because I just had a decent breakfast and don’t want to empty my stomach, ” André covered his eyes, fingers pressing on the socket so hard that it looked seriously hurt.

“Introducing your favourite hematophobic vampire.” Marco bowed sarcastically and extended an arm to André’s side when Mats walked out. 

“All done? All wrapped? You sure?” André slowly turned and relieved to see Mats’ wrapped thumb, which was currently being covered by a ridiculous amount of gauze.

Mats rolled his eyes and sat on the kitchen stool, “Yes princess, now you can give me the report.”

 

André nodded and handed him a file holder from his briefcase, “Everything about Pepe Reina and Javi Martínez is in this bag, directly taken from the Ministry of Civil Affairs. Their information is right there on the shelf, no guards at all: address, current work place, family, everything you want to know. I also have Holger Badstuber’s home address. He’s still working at the same place under their new boss Bastian Schweinsteiger.”

“How about Jan Kirchhoff?” Marco asked. “You two were in the same high school, right?”

Mats scanned the first several pages and nodded. He looked content, but did shifted very slightly in the chair when Kirchhoff’s name was mentioned.

André tensed and answered immediately, “We weren’t close.”

“I know, dude, I’m not suggesting anything,” Marco raised his hands in defence. “I’m just wondering maybe you can nose around your schoolmates and find out where he goes. He left SSB earlier this year, didn’t he?”

“All of his information has been removed from the archive, but I’ll try to—”

“He now works for the armed police,” Mats said.

“I’m sorry?”

“I got a tip several days ago, planned to tell you last night but didn’t have the chance,” he lit a cigarette. 

Marco and André shared a knowing look, but they knew better to ask out loud who the tipper was. Marco had concluded from the past two days that blowing nose was the best way to repay awkwardness with awkwardness, so he just did what he ought to do.

“Well, awesome,” André shrugged, “Looks like my work’s done for now. Let me know if you need any other help.”

“Roman had his hands on Lahm and Boateng. Their information is strictly classified and I don’t want you to get into any unnecessary trouble. Speaking of the trouble, was it smooth? How did you get into the archive in the first place?” 

“Told my professor I’m researching for my graduation thesis, and he let me in without a blink…with some extra help,” he made a circle with his thumb and index finger. “100 Doras to be exact, much cheaper than I thought for four people’s lives.”

“Isn’t it just convenient to have a law student on our side?” Marco grinned and patted him on the shoulder. “Now the only question is how to finish bullshitting your thesis.”

“Mats will proofread my paper, won’t you Mats?” the blond shined his best Banbi eyes. 

The raven-haired puffed a smoke, “If I recall correctly, I didn’t finish college.”

“Oh come on, everyone knows you and Benni were the best students in the department. If you didn’t drop out before the thesis defence—” Marco stopped abruptly and covered his mouth. “—Sorry.”

“No no, that’s fine, it’s the truth. It was an understandable but wrong impulse,” Mats stubbed his half-finished cigarette into the poor potted plant. “But we all know it’s useless to regret or to mourn for the past. Let’s move forward because it’s dangerous to get caught on the bridge named memory.”

It also meant it was the end of today’s conversation. Marco murmured something suspiciously close to ‘damn literature student’ and picked up his packed bag under the sofa. 

André waited by the entrance and checked his watch, “Hurry up, I had a date at noon.”

“Yeah, date. Studying together in the central library does not count as date,” Marco commented.

André shook his car key warningly, “Watch your words or you won’t get a ride.”

“Boys, unless you want to stay and volunteer at my store, you should all probably leave now,” Mats interrupted. “Marco, are you ok working with Kevin?”

“We had been working together for a long time in school, but mainly on assignments not assassination,” the blond had a feigned thoughtful look on his face. “So yes, sure, why not.”

“Get a copy of information of Holger Badstuber from André and have a plan by Thursday.”

 

Marco nodded and waved a wordless goodbye. His legs were trembling involuntarily when he walked out of the building, and he blamed his quickened heartbeat on the merciless morning sun. He would get burnt indisputably on so many levels. 

“Where did you park the car?” he asked.

“Behind that Mario’s flat,” André pointed across the road. “You ok dude? You don’t look so well. How much sleep did you get last night?”

“Four or five.”

André glared at him but didn’t pursue his question further. It was unusual of him but Marco wasn’t really paying attention. He looked up when they past the red block building. Tenth floor, that was where Mario lived. All the windows were closed with curtains drawn. Last night, he helped Ann-Kathrin to carry the young man,then excused himself after they got into the elevator. Maybe he should give her another call later today after all. He needed to know more about this Mario (first, his last name to avoid further teasing and mocking) to make sure he was no threat to them.

He stole several more glances and averted his eyes quickly to get into the car before André noticed. He soon fell into a heavy nap with in 10 seconds the car started. 

He was very glad that it was dreamless. 

 

....TBC

**_The trumpet will send its wondrous sound throughout earth's sepulchres and gather all before the throne. _ **

**_Death and nature will be astounded, when all creation rises again to answer the judgement._ **   
**_A book will be brought forth, in which all will be written, by which the world will be judged._ **

**_When the judge takes his place, what is hidden will be revealed, nothing will remain unavenged._ **

**_What shall a wretch like me say? Who shall intercede for me, when the just ones need mercy?_ **

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *André and Jan Kirchhoff were in Mainz 05 together for two seasons in their youth team (07-09) and two years in the regular team (09/10, 10/11), so basically they were in the same team for four years. Klopp was the coach of Mainz 05 till 08, so even though he technically has never coached them, but at least there's some sort of connection ;)  
> *In real life, Kirchhoff was on loan to Schalke 09, so hmmm let's guess where Mats got the tip from :p
> 
>  
> 
> Also, I'll go on another lengthy trip at the end of next week, so after next update (which will be around Tuesday I hope) I'll be only able to post some supplying subplot ficlets. I've already had a Hömmels one ready, but feel free to tell me what pairings you want to see and maybe I can put them in the main plot line.


	5. Tuba Mirum-2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marco knows something about Mario, and a coffee date is happening soon.  
> But before that, Marco had some job to do with Kevin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so so sorry about the super late update!   
> (But a late update is still an update...right?)

 

After all the drama in the past 12 hours, the last person Marco expected to see when he was back was Mario—but obviously this wasn’t how this world worked, because right after he got off André’s car, he saw the brunet right there at the front of his apartment building, fidgeting and checking his watch once every five seconds.

Brilliant, he thought, I don’t even have to give AK a call on Sunday morning.

Marco slowly approached the building and stopped after merely two steps, because as soon as his eyes got used to the direct sunlight, he made out what Mario was wearing. 

 

The thing was, after he decided to join Mats’ little avengers assembly, he had imagined numerous scenarios of him getting caught (you have to be prepared in all ways): be dragged into a parked police car when walking on the road, stuck in a coffee shop and has nowhere to escape when security comes…and the most dramatic one being the “stage” scenario, in which the police comes onto the stage in the middle of his performance and arrest him in paused music and audiences’ screams.

Of course, these are just the product of his apprehensive mind and overactive imagination; in the end, reality was alway more theatrical than art.

For example, he had never expected to see Mario (whom he considered quite attractive) in the full suit of Youth Army, a partial paramilitary organization under the supervision of the government, apparently wanted to have a word or to with him (oh dear god, was that a taser under his belt). 

 

Marco immediately turned his back and wanted to jumped back to André’s car, begging to take him to the library date and promised to say sugary words about the best roommate in the world, but André had already left.

Also, this was when Mario saw him and waved at him excitedly. Marco swallowed hard and tried all his might to walk normal. This was bad. This was not going to end well, Marco, you had brought in a huge trouble.

“Hi, Mr. Reus,” the brunet’s smile was so far the brightest Marco had ever seen in his life. “I asked Ann-Kathrin about your address. I know it’s impolite and rude and I really beg your pardon, but I just need to thank you for…um…everything.”

Marco forced a smile, “Oh yes, I mean no, no worries, it’s totally fine, I can’t just leave you there, can I? AK will kill me.”

“Have you guys known each other for a long time?” Mario’s eyes glinted. “You look like very good friends.”

“We were simply in a same class. I’m her in-school accompanist this semester.”

Mario nodded. None of them picked up the next line and they fell into silence. Marco tried not to avert his eyes but looking at the brunet meant looking at his uniform and it was a big challenge not to wince. His thoughts raced from “Why was he at the demonstration yesterday then?” to “Was he really only severely intoxicated at Mats’ door or what” and obviously “Is he here to thank me or should I probably leave asap”.

Mario must have sensed the awkwardness in the air (it was practically flowing) and scratched his perfectly sculpted hair, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t wear this uniform to see you. I’m such an idiot.”

Marco really wanted to say “yes you are”, but he heard himself answered, “Don’t say that. I’m strong believer in political freedom.”

“My parents work in the government and my brothers and I are obligated to join the YA,” now the brunet looked almost desperate that his faced blushed full lobster red. “We are forced to go to the meeting every week but trust me, it’s just formality.”

“Calm down Mario, you don’t have to explain to me anything. I don’t judge,” Marco almost chuckled when the younger student let out a holding breath. “So is there anything else I can do for you?”

“No, not at all, I just wanted to thank you. I should probably stop wasting your time and leave,” Mario stuttered and backed several steps. “And…um…maybe, I mean if you are free sometimes this Saturday, maybe I can buy you a coffee after class? Of course if you have things to attend that’s totally fine, I just want to thank you—did I say that already? My brain really wasn’t working.”

Marco raised his eyebrow, “Sure, why not? No sane person would refuse a free coffee.”

“Wow, awesome, great, thanks! ” Mario smiled and Marco felt just a tiny bit dizzy. “I guess I’ll just see you this Saturday then. Have a great week, Marco!”

 

Marco watched Mario waved at him one last time and disappeared into a parked black car at the intersection. Maybe he should talk to someone about this Mario since the brunet seemed genuinely responsive to him, and now knowing that his parents worked in the government? That sounds dangerously interesting. 

 He called Kevin as soon as he returned to his room. There was something more they should put on the agenda during their next meeting.

 

.

 

Marco weighed the pistol in his hands and wondered how everything had come down to this terminal stage. 

His life up to last year was rather normal. His parents were both hardworking middle class citizens, and his older sisters all married hardworking men and had cute children to nicely call him “my favourite Uncle Marco”. He even had a short relationship with a pretty girl who worked at the local newspaper, though it didn’t last long when he outed himself to his close friends.

About his future career, well, he had been playing piano from a young age, had moved around the town with different teachers before got accepted by the Central Conservatory affiliated to Donum University, despite being told by his first teacher that his fingers weren’t flexible enough to pursue a professional path. Although he was fairly famous in the Great Capital area, his name hadn’t spread outside the country. 

All in all, he was a regular 23 years old music student who should be preparing for his graduation concert and worrying about possible future career (if there was any) instead of pulling an allnighter outside a home of a State Security Bureau interrogator. 

But life was always full of surprises.

 

Jürgen Klopp was a professor at Donum University’s central campus, teaching a first-year compulsory German course that nobody cared and two elective courses that only few literature major would choose. The only reason Marco chose the elective was because he was short on credits and his friend Kevin, whom he had known since high school, dragged him to register.

“Kloppo is very cool,” Kevin grinned. 

Marco shook his head; he doubted he would ever be interested about contemporary poetry.

It turned out Klopp was indeed very cool, and extremely good at what he did for a living: teaching. By the end of the year, Marco was so sure of himself that he could become a poet instead of a pianist, so he registered in another Klopp’s course.

Two years of extensive reading and writing with Klopp had provided Marco a chance to re-examine himself. Now to think about it, he definitely had a sort of inferiority complex: his family weren’t intellectuals, he was always told he couldn’t succeed because of this reason or that reason during his adolescence, and he was born introvert in the first place. He was constantly sick, either something was broken or he was again allergic to the plainest thing in the world.

Therefore it shouldn’t be a surprise that he didn’t have a lot of friends prior to university. People thought he would be a magnet to girls and boys with his blond hair and hazel eyes (despite his asymmetrical nose, which Marco had once obsessed in high school) and his undeniably talent, but no, Marco was always lonely. And it led to a minor form paranoia; when classmates tried to befriend him, he was extremely grateful, but at the same time afraid that they were laughing behind him—and most importably, he always had a illogical fear that people he cared would leave him at the end.

Things had certainly got better in the conservatory, where his talent was praised in earnest. Thanks to Klopp, he got to know more people outside his music education, and he made some close friends in two years. Nuri Sahin and Mats Hummels were the teaching assistants of Klopp, and Kevin and Pierre were in both of the intermediate and advanced poetry classes. There were Roman Weidenfeller and Sebastian Kehl, two of Klopp’s past students who worked in the government agencies. Later he brought in André, his assigned roommate in first year, and Erik, his junior classmate to the circle too. They spent numerous night at Klopp’s place to discuss music, art, law and mainly current politics. The idea of a better Anesidora and demanding for a government reform had started to sprout. 

However, only after the third month he entered Progressive Student Union, Klopp was taken away by the State Security Bureau for “some brief questions”, and the next time he saw Klopp was six months later in the form of burnt ashes.

 

None of the question received any proper answer. To protect his younger fellows, Kehl was the one who went to pick up the remains alone and bury it under the oak tree outside the public graveyard. It was also the reason why he lost his job and was added to the government’s watch list, as he “might have connection with illegal assemblies against the security of the state”.

Mats was always the most radical one. He immediately dropped out of school despite he was only two days away from his thesis defence; he also broke up with his boyfriend, though the reason was still unclear to the peers. Everyone else remained in school, and Roman even got himself a promotion in the bureau. 

But a plan at the same time was born in silence: its details unclear, goal determined. 

 

So it all came down to tonight, the first night that marked the real beginning of their revenge quest. He and Kevin would first take down the easiest target Holger Badstuder while Mats found more information about Jan Kirchhoff. 

The first operation was always the easiest and the hardest. It was easy because the police would have to fish for the needle in the sea to find out who the suspects could possibly be, and current university students would be in the least possible lists, not to mention someone like Marco who was already quite famous, or Kevin, whose family was among the oldest in the city. Also, a nobody like Badstuder would hardly alarm the officials.

It was hard because, well, obviously they were inexperienced, and any trace they left could lead to a lethal ending. Marco had never fired at anything that moves; he was not interested in weapons when he was younger (or now), and the first time he touched a pistol was last year, when Mats forced him to go to the range. The older man taught him everything about the light weapon, but shooting at paper was very different from killing a real person, and to be honest starting with human was not the best route to success. 

Thanks to Kevin, who either realized Marco was not fully ready to pull the trigger or he just wanted to show off his mad shooting skill, volunteered to do the actual job. All Marco had to do was to wait downstairs and looked out for the passing inspectors.

(Marco didn’t know when he would be fully ready, but he guessed he would be force to accept the situation after tonight.)

The watch clicks at half past eight and the street was already half empty. They were both wearing the plainest clothes they could imagine so they just looked like any passer-by, and Marco for the first time in many years, didn’t use any hair gel on his head. The street lights were dim enough for them to approach Badstuder’s house without anyone seeing them.

“I miss your hair like this,” Kevin whispered. “Make me think of your stupid face when you were 17.”

“I don’t think it’s the best time to reminisce about our teenage years when we were about to murder someone,” Marco gnashed.

“Okay, whatever you say Princess Woody.”

Kevin earned a heavy knock on the shoulder but had to swallow his groan. Marco rolled his eyes and pointed at the street corner, gestured that he would wait there.

“Good luck,” he mouthed and raised his crossed fingers high.

“—And for a better Anesidora.”

 

...TBC 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing while traveling is practically impossible...I really should write more before I depart .___.   
> Hopefully I have some free time this weekend...  
> Meanwhile, I'm still looking for suggestions for other pairings! Throw them at me!


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